Welcome to Zimmer-zineThe e-zine for all those who are not dead yet!

Not content with things themselves,
we named small desires, translated them into stone.
The smithy's forge transformed nameless dirt into iron,
stayed countless armies of sand into glass palaces.

At Zaandfort, we admired the slow hunger of glaciers
and the ceaseless appetite of the Rhine, carrying a payload
of what once was the secret heart of mountains.
Midsummer: we stood on a dune above the North Sea,
talking of Caesar and philosophy, naming the intangible
sandwiched between schools of thought. Cogito ergo sum.

Things cannot stand for what they are,
without moniker or name as if we brought them into being
with our mad desire for definition. To think is to name.
At Descarte's huis we measured the ratio of shadow
to light and found it wanting within our own darkness.
Throwing stones at the shattered ego, an afterthought.